
SUE L. JAMES 




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LOG CABIN RHYMES 



LOG CABIN RHYMES 



BY 

MRS. SUE L. JAMES 



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PUBLISHED PRIVATELY 






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FOREWORD 

If some truant southern breeze should waft 
this little waif to your desk, treat it kindly. 
It has a message of love for you, and its motto 
is the Golden Rule. 

The early years of the writer were spent 
upon a modest plantation within the deep for- 
ests of Arkansas, where the only school avail- 
able was that of Nature. Her daily compan- 
ions were the many members of her family, 
who were never happier than when permitted 
to follow her through the neighboring dells 
to gather the wild flowers that so abundantly 
grew there, or to sit on the margin of a rip- 
pling brook, meandering its course to the wait- 
ing river — or, later, to watch the stars weave 
silver gowns for the peaceful lake upon whose 
breast the lilies had been rocked to sleep. Over 
this little family of Nature-lovers the tall trees 
— like tired sentinels — stood constant guard. 



vi Foreword 

These same spreading trees still shelter visitors 
to that woodland community and stand stur- 
dily erect despite the ravages of southern 
storms and dethroning winds. 

That some tired heart might here find pana- 
cea for the storms of Life is the writer's in- 
centive in sending out this little book of verse. 



CONTENTS 

PAGEI 

MY BARQUE I 

TAKE ME HOME 2 

MY OLE MASTAH 4 

SHOW ME THY WAY 7 

TOMORROW 9 

ALONE WITH DEITY 10 

ONLY A LOCK OF HAIR 13 

LIFE 15 

LOOKING ON THE HILLS AT HOT SPRINGS . 1 7 
SATURDAY NIGHT . , . . . -19 

CHRISTMASTIDE 21 

FATHER 23 

MAY AND I 25 

grandmother's ROOM 26 

SOUTHLAND WINDS 28 

MY TASK 30 

" JOHNNIE, don't STAY OUT LATE " . -32 

" BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART " . -35 

PRUE • 37 

IN PASTURES GREEN 4O 



viii Contents 

PAGE 

MY PLEA 42 

LITTLE MARGARET 44 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF A DYING YEAR , . 47 

THE SOLDIER BOY 49 

SANTA CLAUS 5 1 

A LOW WHITE COT IN ARKANSAW ... 54 

MOTHER 56 

MY LITTLE SOUTHERN BELLE .... 58 

IN MEMORIAM 61 

THROUGH THE MIST 65 

MY TEARS 68 

TO A NAMELESS ROUGH RIDER WHO FELL AT 

THE BATTLE OF SANTIAGO . . . . 70 
BABE OF BETHLEHEM . . . . -75 

A SHATTERED IDEAL 8 1 

MY CHILDHOOD HOME 84 

THE OLD-FASHIONED CHURCH .... 86 

BYGONES 90 

LITTLE ROSE 92 

LOVE, TO YOU 93 

HE KNOWS 94 

YOU . .96 



MY BARQUE 

Out on the waves of the river of time 
My barque sails joyously today; 

My song is a song of love divine, 
And loved ones singing away. 

No clouds drift o'er my craft's blue sky, 
No winds blow shrill from hills of snow, 

No storm turns the barque, though waves 
plough high, 
The sailing is smooth in Love's soft glow. 

For my barque is manned by the oar of Love, 
The sea is stilled by the calm of Hope, 

While steering the helm God's hand above, 
And guiding the prow Faith's telescope. 

Sail on, O barque, for the river is long, 
But the landing soon will come in sight, 

Where a Soul ship, anchored, is waiting — 
strong 
With Love's supernal light. 



TAKE ME HOME 

Take me where the HHes bloom 
In my sunny Southland free, 

Where daisies nod their snowy heads, 
Whene'er I pass, in courtesy, 

And zephyrs soft so gently blow 
On desert fair and fragrant lea : 
I hear them calling now^ to me. 

Let me tread her vernal paths, 

Bowered cool in shady groves. 
Stretching far to rivers free, 

Nourishing the secret coves 
Along whose mossy margin straying. 

Browsing herds, to quench their thirst, 
Coming to their kine, delaying 

Till the sunbeams had dispersed. 

Into the dear old homestead there 
I would today intrude again, 

And pluck the roses stealing fair 
Within my latticed window pane. 



Take Me Home 3 

I'd rest me in the old armchair 
To watch the sunset's after-glow, 

And dream that all the world was fair, 
As I dreamed it long ago. 

The little room I called my own, 

Where oft I knelt at mother's feet 
To ask forgiveness for my sin 

And gaze into her dear eyes sweet. 
Is now defaced with dust, and worn, 

And only spectral shadows fleet 
With dying twilight, trembling borne, 

My longing eyes regretful greet. 

Dear faces gone I see them still. 

The raven locks and silvered hair, 
Kind hands, crossed in death's arms chill, 

That oft were lifted there in prayer. 
Though hushed, their voices ever there. 

From God's Celestial sun-kissed shore, 
I hear them calling me up there, 

Where life is love for evermore. 



MY OLE MASTAH 
Song 

De blue bird an' de robin, de red bird an' de 

wren, 
Am a-singin', an' a-singin', in de glade an' in 

de glen; 
De bees dey am a-hummin' 'bout de lily an' 

de rose, 
While I's musin', an' a-rockin', while de evenin' 

shadder grows. 

Chorus 
O, de days dey am a-comin' when I'll nevah 

wo'k no mo', 
Den I'll res' me on de hilltop by de side of 

Mastah Joe; 
Dah I'll sleep till resurectum when ole Gabel 

blows his hawn, 
Sho I'll be de first to meet 'im, my old mastah, 

on dat mawn. 

4 



My Ole Mast ah S 

I's a-gittin' ole an' feeble, an' my wo'k is almost 

o'er, 
De rumatiz it ketched me 'bout de hip in 

ninety- fo' ; 
I's only strenk ter hobble 'round erbout mah 

cabin do', — 
Sho I's monst'ous good fer nothin' 'pared to 

what I wuz befo'. 

Las' night I see ole mastah, — when de sun drap 

down de hill 
An' de birds had stopped der hummin', an' ole 

nature stood stock still, — 
Reckon, lak he uster, dreamin' of ole miss his 

pa'tnah fair; 
Seemed somehow she wuz beside 'im, in huh 

same ole willow chair. 

Den's de times I feel mos' lonesome, kaze o\' 

mastah lay so still, 
'Neath de shadow, an' de darkness, on de 

side of yonder hill, 



6 My Ole Mastah 

With de birds to sing his requim, as de stars 

look sadly down, 
Yet I feel de light of heaven shine in pity all 

eround. 



SHOW ME THY WAY 

When life grows sad and I'm depressed, 
And sigh for peace and rest, sweet rest. 
If gather clouds I know not why, 
I'm prompted still to upward cry : 
" Show me Thy way." 

If shadows fall where sunshine fell, 
'Tis God's own will, I know full well. 
When grope I through the darkest hour 
I'll pray to Him who hath the power : 
" Show me Thy way." 

When bowed with grief for others' woe, 
And bitter tears for others flow ; 
E'en though His path I scarce can see, 
To Him I'll cry with sanctity : 
" Show me Thy way." 

If hours drag and days be long, 
With hope deferred and faith not strong ; 
Still, tremblingly, I'll turn my face 
To Him and ask, with given grace : 
" Show me Thy way." 
7 



Show Me Thy Way 

If friendship's gold turns into dross, 
I firmer grasp the crimson cross ; 
If love grows cold and earth seems dark, 
I cry with faith's redeeming spark : 
" Show me Thy way." 

Christ is the way — Ah ! God knows best, 
His paths all lead to love and rest ; 
O, at the last, I'll trustful cry, 
My work is done. Here let me lie — 
" I've found the way!" 



TOMORROW 

Storm and clouds come on apace, 
As through the world we swiftly go; 

But back of them a Father's face 
In mercy shines on us below. 

Into each life some rain must fall, 

Else flowers that bloom would cease to blow, 
So, oft, our hopes dark shadows pall, 

That Faith's sweet blossoms brighter grow. 



ALONE WITH DEITY 

Alone with Christ, alone with God, 
Whose word is as the Hghtning rod 
That flashes from yon mystic height, 
All spheres of earth to brilliant light. 

Alone with Deity, who hath power 
To calm the wave in turbulent hour, 
To send vast darkness onto earth. 
Herald fair Aurora's birth, 
Through aerial plains to safely steer 
The eagle in his wild career. 

Alone with Him who holds the dew 
Within His hand, to sparkle through, 
To cool the thirsty way-worn flower 
That brightens life through summer hour, 
Who sends the rain to field and plain, 
That they may yield ppportioned grain. 

10 



Alone With Deity ii 

Alone with mystic spirits fair, 

That throng the compliant evening air, 

And speak to me from unseen sphere 

With voice that thrills me strangely here, 

As I alone with Deity stand, 

And peer in vain for spirit land. 



Alone with One who curbs the sun, 

Guides the planets one by one, 

Who speeds the moon through darkest night. 

And bids the stars reflect His light, 

Directs the thunder rumbling loud, 

Beholds the bursting of the cloud. 



Alone with Him — ah, well I know, 
Where'er I stray, where'er I go, 
He will be near me night and day. 
To guide me safe through all the way, 
Strengthening me when I am worn. 
Tempering winds when I am shorn. 



12 Alone With Deity 

Alone with Christ, alone with God, 
Passing 'neath the lowering rod, 
Walking through the deep red sea, 
Whose waves roll high and sullenly. 
But with my Christ and with my God 
I'll cross the sea, and pass the rod. 



ONLY A LOCK OF HAIR 

Only a lock of hair 

Tied with ribbon white, 
But oh, what mem'ries sweet 

They bring to me to-night ! 

A childish face I see, 

In happy days gone by, 
Bright eyes looked love at me, 

Tenderly, trustingly. 

Fair and pure as snow. 
This treasure of my life — 

Dispensing love and peace 
Where all before was strife. 

To-night I view the vanished years 
That quickly passed away, 

And, in her room, my little girl — 
With her doll — at play. 
13 



14 Only a Lock of Hair 

The golden sun athwart her curls, 
Kissing her cheeks of pink — 

An angel robed in white, she seemed, 
'Twas ominous, I think. 

I watched, in fear and love, 

The little darling grow 
To womanhood, and strove 

Not to love her so. 

With years she fairer grew 
In character and mind, v 

To friends so sweet and true. 
In spirit soft and kind. 

But angels, one bright mom, 
Opened Heaven's door. 

And bore my darling far away 
To Leal's distant shore. 

Only this lock of hair 
Tied with ribbon white, 

And memories sweet of her. 
Are all I have to-night. 



LIFE 

Oh, the constant anxious longing 

For the life that is to be, 
And the daily, hourly passing 

Of this frail mortality. 

Oh, the weary wait and watching 
Through the years of destiny, 

And the longing, praying, wishing. 
For the joys of yesterday. 

Oh, the toil and busy working 
Of the tired hands and feet. 

While the heart and soul are rising 
Up to God, with love replete. 

Ah, the longing will be ended. 
And the watching days complete, 

When the weary soul's ascendeci 
To the Saviour's bleeding feet. 
15 



1 6 Life 

There 'tis rest and peace forever, 
'Neath the Father's gentle eyes ; 

There 'tis June on life's fair river, — 
Love through ages never dies. 



LOOKING ON THE HILLS AT HOT 
SPRINGS 

How calm and still the far-off hills 
Today look in their misty shroud, 

Beneath the low, blue-tinted sky, 
Thin veiled with floating cloud. 

Soft sunlights fall upon their brow, 
Glancing down each rugged side, 

Lighting up sequestered glades. 
Gleaming o'er the lowly tide. 

No blooming flower, nor song of bird. 
Is seen or heard around today, 

For winter clothes each favored haunt 
In robes of marked decay. 

Hard by the hills where marble slabs 
Gleam o'er their lowly, silent bed, 

Our heart lies buried with the forms 
Of early loves, now dead. 
17 



Looking on the Hills at Hot Springs 

This life for us no more shall bring 
Its summer flowers, all fair and bright, 

No more its sweet and vernal spring 
Shall cheer life's wintry night. 

But, yonder, we shall look for rest, 
And hope confirmed, and love, 

Such as are kindled in the breast 
Of angels up above. 



SATURDAY NIGHT 

'Tis Saturday night, the wick burns low. 
The cricket's chirrup is heard no more, 
And save the clock all else is still ; 
The damp air falls around me chill. 
The hours are heavier growing now, 
And pain throbs faster in my brow. 

But sew I must my darlings' clothes, 
As childhood's sleep their eyelids close. 
What matter that my limbs are worn 
With sickness, care, and years forlorn ! 
Once I was young, and gay, and free. 
And mother's troubles could not see. 
Ah, well, I'm glad they cannot see 
The weariness they bring to me; 
For clouds would then exclude the sun 
From their young lives now just begun, 
And their bright eyes and beaming smile 
No more would my own cares beguile. 
19 



20 Saturday Night 

Sleep on, my darlings ; may you be 
From care and sorrow ever free. 
For each of you may years prove fair, 
May sickness be not of your share. 
And may you each when life is done 
Find rest in God's immortal home. 



CHRISTMASTIDE 

'Tis night. The ghttering stars look down. 
The moon upon her throne, in silver gown, 
Directs her subjects. With her crown 
Sweet Venus smiles approval down, ' 

And all the planets— all the stars — 
Shout " Peace on Earth ! " through glittering 
bars. 

The rocks, the hills, the vales, the dell, 

Clothed in snowy whiteness, tell 

A story of the Son of God, 

When through their chequered path He trod. 

The widow in her lowly cot 
And orphan He has ne'er forgot. 
To fill their cruse and point the way 
To life eternal's golden day. 

He soothes the sorrowing heart with love, 
In memory of His own above. 
He wipes all tears from weeping eyes. 
And loves with men to sympathize. 



22 Christmastide 

He sends forth messengers of peace — 
To prisoners. He would all release 
From sin and burdens hard to bear, 
And win their souls from cold despair. 

Blessed night, when angels sang 
" * Christ is Born ! " O'er earth it rang, 
Startling heads of nations great. 
Disrupting orthodoxy's state. 

In rural districts, weak and poor. 
Today His angels guard the door, 
For those oppressed by those who grind, 
For greed the hearts of humankind. 

His light grows brighter every day. 
And there's no path He does not stray. 
His blessings are upon all earth 
Today — ^this man of heavenly birth. 



FATHER 

Through darkening clouds, descending low, 
Let some sweet ray of light descend, 

To lead me, as through earth I go. 
Up life's steep hill unto the end. 

Life's wormwood and its gall are tasted here. 
Its bitter dregs retained — my heart the while. 

With trembling hope and weakened faith, doth 
fear 
A Father's anger for His erring child. 

But with new hope I'll gaze beyond this sea, 
To lands of rest for which I constant pine. 

And where my dear ones sweetly beckon me 
To realms of love and peace divine. 

Oh, when I look unto that blissful clime 
I lose all sight of pain and earthly care ; 

With faith I clasp the Saviour's hand in mine, 
And walk with Him in His own garden fair. 
23 



24 Father 

Fain would I lay life's burdens down, 
And seek the rest there promised me. 

But where there's no cross there's no crown, 
To God's one will resigned I'll be. 

And when life's span is sunder'd here. 
And death's release shall come; 

By Thee and loved ones waiting there 
May I be welcomed home. 



MAY AND I 

The morning's fine, the morning's fine, 
We have exuberant weather. 

Blossoms hang from the glory vine, 
Roses and violets dwell together, 
As May and I stroll the heather. 

Flecked with a golden shine. 

The morning's fair, the morning's fair, 

The skies are amber-tinted, 
Delicious fragrance scents the air, 
With blue-gold streams a-glint on high, 

My love for May will never die, — 
Ah, truly we're a happy pair ! 

The morning's sweet, the morning's sweet. 
The hamlet wild-rose scented, 

A paradise of blooms complete, 
A tryst for hearts love-blended. 
Here May and I sit blest, contented, 

Mirroring our love in Love's eyes sweet. 
25 



GRANDMOTHER'S ROOM 

Sweet-scented roses that bloom at my door, 
And zephyrs rich freighted from neighboring 

moor; 
The carol of birds in upland and lea, 
And robins that sleep in the old apple tree, 
Where blossoms play freaks, by the moon's 

soft light, 
Wake mem'ries that long have been sleeping 

tonight. 
The low flax wheel that silently stands, 
Once turned with a whirl by grandmother's 

hands, 
Has prints of old age on its axle now dull. 
Since she turned it 'round 'tis forty years full. 
Sh ! Soothing the sound I seem to hear still 
As the pedal she worked the spindle to fill. 
The quaint old room where grandmother sat 
Had neither a mirror, a carpet, nor mat. 
But the old plank floor was spotlessly clean; 
No tracks of mud were allowed, I ween. 
26 



Grandmother's Room 27 

Her high oak chair, now covered with grime, 
Had never a cushion, nor was it carved fine. 
Ingeniously made with rude spHnts wide, 
And smooth great arms going straight from 

the side. 
Indeed, that old chair of grandmother dear 
Plainly showed marks of threescore year. 
Though empty it stands, discarded and old, 
'Tis worth its own weight in silver and gold. 
'Round it cling fancies, tender and true, 
With scenes that will last a lifetime through. 
The dear old face with sorrowful trace, 
I see again, with a frill of white lace. 
Her voice again I hear in the gloaming 
As when, but a boy, the lane I went roaming. 
This quaint old room, with vine-clad door, 
How I love, with memory, to explore ! 



SOUTHLAND WINDS 

From sunny Southland's mystic bower. 
Dear winds, they come in happy tune, 
Laden with the breath of June 

And many a woodland flower. 

They roam along the dusty main, 
Nestle at the hawthorn's feet. 

Whirl the leaves in monster droves. 
And plough the dusty street. 

They scatter far the darkening cloud, 
And sway the forest's leafy tree, 
Lure the dells from winter's shroud. 
To welcome June's sweet jollity. 

They sing of childhood's happy home, 
Of roses blooming 'round the door. 

And dew-pearled rugs, fair Nature's own, 
Upon the plastic emerald floor. 
28 



Southland Winds 29 

But sweeter than the songs they sing, 
Is one of a maid with starry eye, 

Upon whose hand love placed a ring 
Beneath June's deep and radiant sky. 



MY TASK 

I DO not know which path Thou'dst have 

me go, 
That Thy spirit will lead me right, I know ; 
If only I ask, desiring it shall be so. 

It's Fate or Luck, some men would say. 
I've no faith in such ; I ardent pray 
For faith to help me through each day. 

I look upon each task God giveth me 
With assurance that 'tis best to be 
Tried in storm than on a peaceful sea. 

Though sorrow, storm, and grief I ofttimes 

meet, 
I falter not, nor fear to brave retreat, 
For well I know His grace is kind and sweet. 

If loneliness or grief disturbs my heart, 
I ask that more love He impart, 
Who has a balm for every wound and smart. 
30 



My Task 31 

Each day I work with strength renewed, 
Trusting in His glorious plenitude. 
In joy or pain giving gratitude. 



JOHNNIE, DON'T STAY OUT LATE" 

Far away to happy childhood 
Mem'ry takes me back again; 

To my dear old country homestead 
Close beside the shaded lane, 

Where the birds in happy numbers 
Sang at eve their sweet refrain. 

Where the yellow cowslip nodded 
Gently to the moon and stars, 

While the cattle homeward plodded 
And the milkmaid slipped the bars, 

As she called to " Pink " and " Daisy," 
Gazing now and then at " Mars," 

Hear the bleating lambs in concert 
As they gambol on the green, 

Like so many little children, 
Many a time, there I have seen, 

Playing " Hide, go seek " till shadows 
Hid from sight the merry scene. 
32 



" Johnnie, Don't Stay Out Late " 33 

Lazy brooklets hard-by wandered 
Through the restful dappled green, 

Dancing onward till the sun-beads 
Twinkled in the shifting sheen. 

Barefoot, here I often waded, 

Or minnows gathered times atween. 



Or longing, homeward turned my footstep, 
When the chill of evening fell, 

To feast upon the golden apples. 

Or peanuts hoarded in the shell; 

Then to milk and bread and butter. 
And soon to dream and sleep I fell. 



With mem'ry sweeter still, I enter 
Mother's room I love so dear. 

See her sitting in her rocker. 
With the firelight falling near; 

Hear her greet me once more kindly, 
" I am waiting for you, dear." 



34 " Johnnie, Don't Stay Out Late " 

Long ago she went to Heaven, 

But comes at evening hour to wait ; 

In the vestibule with Willie, 

She walks toward the jeweled gate. 

Calling, as she used to, " Johnnie, 
Please, my boy, don't stay out late." 



" BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART " 

O Nature all sublime dost thou appear 
To the pure in heart, God is so near, 
This secret hid from sinful eyes 
Sheds radiance on both earth and skies. 
Each mountain peak and lofty height, 
That bathes its head in morning light. 
Smiles back on us in joyful rays 
To fill our soul with blissful praise. 



Old Ocean with his dashing spray 
Mirrors His face both night and day. 
And all the sky, with orbs of light, 
Tells of His glory and His might. 
Each leaflet with its tinges rare 
Shows touches of His finger there, 
And in each vernal bed of grass 
He smiles in love whene'er we pass. 

35 



36 " Blessed Are the Pure in Heart" 

The naked trees like monarchs stand 
Dethroned of glory by His hand. 
Their limbs, like specters, to and fro 
Sway sadly in their silent woe. 
The wailing of the winds they tell, 
How the leaves turned brown and fell ; 
E'en here our hearts in gladness ring; 
The verdure will return next spring. 

H 

All these beauties with one voice 
Tell us " God reigns, let earth rejoice." 
The sun, the moon, the stars that rise, 
These are God's footprints in the skies, 
All trees and flowers that we behold 
New lessons to our hearts unfold. 
Happy the heart that thus sees God, 
Accepts His will 'neath smile or rod. 



PRUE 

Birds sing gay, 

And zephyrs play, 
Around a rural cottage low. 

Roses sleep ■■ 

And ivies creep 
As in a summer long ago. 

Down the lane herds slowly came, 
Lowing for their bleating kine ; 

At the bars 

Caught from the stars, 
Prue's amber locks a-silver shine. 

Kissed by the air, 

Her cheeks, rose fair, 
Prue, now and then, with happy coo 

Called Freck and Pink, 

Who lagged to drink 
While evening shadows grew. 
37 



38 Pnie 

With quickening pace 

And happy face, 
Came their path a youth along, 

He was thinking, 

Eyes a-bhnking, 
That to him Prue soon would belong. 



Above the bars 

Smiled the stars, 
As Jim came up with Freck and Pink ; 

Caught Prue fair, 

Kissed her square, 
Ere she could move — or clearly think. 



"Jim, take that!" 

Prue hit him pat, 
As rippling flowed her merry laugh. 

Jim understood 

Her playful mood 
And coolly roped the truant calf. 



Prue 39 

That's long ago. 

And winter's snow 
Has ofttimes fall'n upon the spot 

Where Prue's least whim 

Was law to Jim, 
And love played in their every plot. 

Now Jim is gray 

And Prue's away, 
Sleeping where the lilies blow ; 

Naught makes glad 

Jim's life so sad, 
And where Prue's gone Jim prays to go. 



IN PASTURES GREEN 

Touch Thou my lips with fire divine, 

Let my soul Thy love define. 

Keep Thou my feet from falHng low, 

Guide them where Thou would'st have them go. 

Lead Thou in pastures green the way 
That nearest leads to Thee today, 
Till mounts my soul, on eagle wings, 
To view Thee and celestial things. 

Illuminate my life within, 
Cleanse it from individual sin, 
Encompass every path I tread. 
Let Thy Manna be my bread. 

If care, or pain, or rain or shine 
Impede my way, " Thy will be mine." 
Beyond them all I see a trace 
Of sunshine in my Father's face. 
40 



In Pastures Green 41 

Let Thou my task be finished well, 
That I at last may with Thee dwell, 
And, kneeling by my Master, lay 
Some trophies gathered here, I pray. 



MY PLEA 

My plea today : Lord, I would ask 
That it will prove a pleasant task 
To give to some tired soul the cheer 
That Thou didst give when Thou wert here. 

To some sad heart give joy and light, 
To illuminate where palls the night, 
With smiles earth's care to drive away. 
When evening casts the cumbrous day. 

Might it be mine to oft disperse 
The gloom that follows passing hearse, 
With loving words that lure to Thee 
The heart entombed in misery. 

I learned the lesson of loving Thee 
Through pain and grief that came to me. 
And now my one desire and prayer 
Is that with others I may share. 
42 



My Plea 43 

And when life's span is sundered here 
And death's release shall come, 
By Thee, and loved ones waiting there, 
May I be welcomed home. 



LITTLE MARGARET 

Like a sunbeam came dear Margaret 
Into my room, the little pet. 
Her sunny curls half tethered back, 
Her features fair nothing could lack. 

Her brown eyes fringed with lashes long 
Swept o'er her cheeks — rose-bloomed among 
The dimples playing — red lips show 
Two rows of pearl as white as snow. 

" How old are you, sweet Margaret ? " 
I asked, as she quite near me sat. 
" I's fo' yiz ole des 'tuther day, 
Not any mo', my mamma say." 

" Who made you? Tell me, little pet." 
" Dod made me," said sweet Margaret. 
" He's dood an' libs above de sty ; 
I'm doin' ter see Him when I die. 

44 



Little Margaret 45 

" He has whole lots ov anzels fair, 
Wid shiny wings an' dolden hair. 
He lubs de chilluns, an' some day 
He'll turn an' take me where He stay," 

" Well, you thank Him, Margaret, 
Before we eat, and quite forget." 
" Es, I'll t'ank Him now," she said. 
With serious face, and bowed her head. 

" Dod, mate me dood as I tan be, 
Des like de anzels '00 tan see, 
He'p me to lub '00 day an' night 
And be des as dood wid all my might. 

" Is dat enuff ter say dest et? " 
" Oh, yes, my precious Margaret," 
I answered, tears now in my eyes, 
For sacred mem'ries that would rise. 

" My little friend," I finally said, 

" You've lots of reverence in that head. 

I trust you'll ever be as sweet 

As now — for heaven ripe and meet. 



46 Little Margaret 

" May that dear God you love to praise 
Guide you through life's serenest ways. 
Could your sweet faith be mine, dear pet, 
Life's sorrows all I could forget. 

" Farewell, sweet child, farewell for aye, 
That we may meet somewhere I'll pray. 
Life here for you is yet to come. 
Mine's going fast — I'll soon reach home." 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF A DYING 
YEAR 

Under the shadow of a dying year, 
With heart o'ercast by grief and tear 
And head bowed low, with sorrows cast 
And the death of hopes that could not last. 
Under the shadow of a dying year, 
Watching and waiting, through constant fear 
For winter to pass, and returning spring 
Some hope and joy once more to bring. 

Under the shadow of a dying year. 
With anxious heart and dismal sphere, 
Groping through devious paths untrod. 
Feeling our way to Heaven and God. 

Under the shadow of a dying year, 
'Mid scenes of life grown strangely sere. 
Striving 'gainst fate, bending with care, 
Leaning on Christ, by faith and with prayer, 

47 



48 Under the Shadow of a Dying Year 

Under the shadow of a dying year, 
With fewer years, and less of life's cheer; 
With faces loved hidden from sight, 
And voices silent that made life bright. 

Under the shadow of a dying year, 
Waiting life's mysteries to be made clear; 
Where toils and trials and tears and strife 
Will all be reckoned the blessings of life. 

Under the shadow of a dying year, 
With withered heart, moist with tear: 
Waiting for rest, the bier and the sod, 
And love evermore in the home of our God. 



THE SOLDIER BOY 

Only a plot of ground 

Where roses dream, 

The grass atween, 
Ivy nestling 'round. 

Only a narrow bed 

Kissed by the air, 

And sun rays fair, 
The sod a pillow for his head. 

Fought and died, 

The battle field 

His bed, his shield 
The musket by his side. 

Only a dreary home 

Where roses weep, 

And zephyrs keep 
Breaking into a moan. 

49 



50 The Soldier Boy 

Only a vacant chair, 
His erstwhile seat 
At mother's feet, 

Where he knelt in prayer. 

Only a broken heart, 
A silvered head, 
Her darling dead ; 

Alone, she played her part. 



SANTA CLAUS 

I HEAR the bells a-ringing 

Over the hills away, 
And Santa Claus a-singing 

As speeds his crimson sleigh. 

His coat of fur is laden, 
And pockets, every one, 

With gifts for boy and maiden 
Of devices quaintly done. 

Old Santa in his glory. 

His reindeers four in hand, 

Traverses every city 
In all the happy land. 

He hears the sweet petitions, — 

Sent up at eventide. 
To the dear God who made them,- 

Around each fireside. 

51 



52 Santa Claus 

He reads the thousand letters, 
Some scribbled, some so fine, 

Asking for many a present 
At dear old Christmas time. 

He sees the myriad stockings 
Decking the chimney side, 

And waiting little urchins 
With eyes still open wide. 

He waits until in slumber 
The little ones have gone, 

Then, noiseless, takes his treasures 
And fills them every one. 

Then stealthily he scrambles 

Up the chimney high, 
To other children waiting 

He makes his reindeers fly. 

Out from his boundless riches 
He hauls gay dollies fair, 

With guns, and drums, and horses. 
And monkeys with long hair. 



* 



Santa Clans 53 

He asks no questions ever, 
But gives to rich and poor; 

In all his kindly visits 
He never slights a door. 

Just like the blessed Jesus, 

He loves the children all ; 
Though naughty and ungrateful, 

He answers when they call. 



A LOW WHITE COT IN ARKANSAW 

Song 

There's a low white cot on a green sloping 

hill, 
Where the song of the bird and the tune of 

the rill 
Charm the hours as they speed on the bosom 

of time; 
That Arkansaw home is the dear home of 

mine. 



Chortis 
While mem'ry lives green, and 'twill ever 

live on 
As green as the hills on Leal's fair mom, 
There'll be love in my heart for those I once 

saw 
In the low white cot in dear Arkansaw. 
54 



A Low White Cot in Arkansaw 55 

The zephyrs soft play 'round the lily and rose, 
As dreamily the hours bring joy and repose; 
Days pass by ush'ring love with its rest, 
And peace reigns within, for its inmates are 
blest. 

Though faces are absent and youthful lives 

gone, 
Their fragrance still lives in that dear cottage 

home. 
For many's the hour of joy we all saw 
In that little white cot in dear Arkansaw. 



MOTHER 

Beside the grave I'm kneeling. Far 

Beyond the sunset rifts the evening star 

Beckons to lands where is no grief or pain, 
Where I shall see thy face, thy gentle face 
again. 

I feel the night dews on my boyish head. 
As oft I felt thy hand in soothing power, 

When, tossing feverish on my trundle bed. 
You watched me through each weary hour. 

While bending o'er thee now, I long to be 
Caressed as only thou could'st do, 

When cares of work-a-day had set me free, 
And I had hurried home to you. 

The world is careless, hard and cold. 
And for me gives no special thought, 

Its treasures now are bought and sold, 
No note of sympathy is caught. 

56 



Mother 57 

So I go hungering the night and day 

For thy sweet love now lost to me awhile, 

Longing once more to hear thee softly pray, 
" Lord, let angels guard my child." 

I hear the singing of the brook close by, 

The autumn leaves slow dropping from the 
bough, 

And the twittering of night-birds, restless, shy, 
As I in tearful reverence o'er thee bow. 

Could my fond prayer be heard by thee 

Where thou hast found thy coveted reward, 

I know that thou wouldst truly pity me, 
And to my lonely heart speak soothing word. 

But thou hast taught me whom to ever trust, 
Our Father's Son, through night and day. 

Unlike the cold world, He is ever just, 
And will not turn your boy away. 



MY LITTLE SOUTHERN BELLE 

Song 

Fair as any queen and sweet as any rose, 

My little Southern Belle where the orange 
blossom grows. 

In the vale of dear Arkansas, rich in love and 
sweet perfume, 

And the whiteness of the lilies and sweet mag- 
nolia's bloom. 

Chortis 
Oh, sweet as any blossom and fair as any 

queen, 
My little Southern beauty, like a poet's fancy 

dream, 
In a pretty, low, white cottage, wreathed in 

vines of evergreen, 
And she promised she would wed me when the 

rose's blush was seen, 
58 



My Little Southern Belle 59 

Her eyes are dark and sparkling with dews of 

maiden love, 
And her every smile reminds me of the angels 

up above. 
Her form inspired with graces, Apollo would 

admire, — 
Oh, she's my Southern beauty of whom I never 

tire. 



She says the sweetest nonsense that I have ever 

heard. 
And sings just like the songster of the South, — 

she beats a bird. 
Her hair it shames the raven, her eyes deep as 

the sea, 
Her dimples, constant playing hide-and-seek, 

allure me. 



My little Southern beauty sits in her cottage 

door, 
Watching for my coming as she never did 

before. 



6o My Little Southern Belle 

She's the fairest and the sweetest, my little 
Southern Belle, 

And I love her, yes, I love her more than any- 
one can tell. 



IN MEMORIAM 
{Decoration Day — the Blue and the Gray) 

Lay flowers fresh upon each breast, 
Sing their requiems o'er and o'er; 

'Twill not disturb their peaceful rest, 
Nor waken them for evermore. 

Nor sound of fife, nor flute, nor drum 
Can rouse them from their lowly bed ; 

Their battle's o'er, their victory won, 
On fields immortal, the martyred dead. 

Let teardrops fall athwart their grave. 
Whose vernal tints relieve the sod, 

'Twill ease the heart of many brave. 
Waiting thy call, O righteous God. 

Speak kindly words of praise and prayer, 
Of how unconquered heroes fought 

In tattered garments proud to bear 

The name "Confed" — with honor fraught. 

6i 



62 In Memoriam 

The gray canteen and musket old, 
That hangs against the cabin wall, 

To each spectator speaketh bold 
And tells the story of their fall. 

Tongue nor time can blot their page 

From history's dissident lore, 
Of the chivalric, noble age, 

When Knighthood gave its blood — and 
more. 

Nor martial music, nor tattoo, 

Nor concourse followed to their grave 

Our boys, that loved their country true, 
And life for it and honor gave. 

No paeans fell upon their ears, 

Nor victory perched their banners torn, 

When, at the close of four long years, 
Our boys in gray came back reborn. 

When death-knell sounded o'er the land, 
Boys in blue had left their home, 

A brave, heroic, federal band. 

To fight for what they nobly won. 



In Memoriam 63 

Ofttimes a squad of blue and gray 
Held meetings 'neath a flag of truce, 

Shook hands and rested by the way, 
With kindly words, free from abuse. 

Sleeping side by side are they, 
The sod a pillow for their head, 

Angels guarding night and day 
The silent bivouac of the dead. 

Strew flowers on the boys in blue, 
Sleeping in our Southern land ; 

God's angels watch them. Let us strew 
Their graves with generous hand. 

Some mother's boy has gone to God. 

Died — ah ! true as steel, and brave, 
His love for home and native sod 

Announced on that which marks his grave. 

Face to face and hand to hand, 

The blue and gray, the victory won. 

Rest now, blest, in Eden land, 
Christ, their captain, every one. 



64 in Memoriam 

With mem'ries dear and ne'er forgot 
Each year we lay sweet flowers there 

Upon their graves — most sacred spot — 
And for their loved ones breathe a prayer. 

O God supreme, kind judge of all, 
The dead — and soldiers living yet, 

The latter help to hear Thy call. 
And war's vicissitudes forget. 



THROUGH THE MIST 

Through the mist, to bygone years, 
Mem'ry lures my heart today, 
When youth and hope without life's tears 
Roamed merrily on life's sweet way. 

The old red mill, moss-grown and gray, 
On the sunny banks of old Saline, 
I've watched its revolutions gay 
With joy almost supreme. 

Played in the shallow of the stream, 
In miniature lakes the minnows snared, 
Till rays from western skies, agleam, 
Abandoned earth, and night declared. 

How bright the scenes — they come to me, 
The meadow fair, the hill, the lea, 
The dell, and field of waving grain 
Luxuriating in the rain. 
65 



66 Through the Mist 

The song of bird, the tinkhng bell, 
And rivulet, that wood-notes swell, 
The vernal rugs spread at my feet 
Interwove with flowers sweet. 

The evening with its soothing spell. 
And peace that in the hearts there fell, 
Like some sweet strain of music sent 
From Leal with love supremely blent. 

Silvery threads from moon and stars, 
Weaving paths — with staid old Mars, 
Through the darkness on earth-shore. 
How I glimpse them as in yore. 

The old home gray with age and grime, \ 
Stately as in pristine time, 
Has ojffered many a safe retreat 
For weary heart and tired feet. 

Vines where swallows built their' nest 
And straying songsters paused to rest, 
Are clinging yet about the door. 
With roses blushing as in yore. 



Through the Mist 67 

The joyous shout of children sweet, 
With rosy Hps — for kisses meet, 
That romped the hall in winter day. 
Have gone away — so far away. 

Mother's hand that soothed our pain 
Long beneath the snow has lain, 
Her eyes that shone on us with love 
Are watching through the gates above. 

With these dear mem'ries pure and good, 
I ofttimes lose life's sterner mood. 
To find, as in my childhood years, 
My heart repentant and in tears. 



\ 



MY TEARS 

Holy Father, touch with Thy gracious hand 

divine 
This tired heart, I pray, and weary soul of 

mine. 
In each awaken songs of sweetest praise to 

Thee, 
With love that, by its vastness, shall move 
?.^; eternity. 

Let Thy spirit's peace, as a gentle dove, 

descend. 
And with mine humble heart in communion 

blend. 
While utter I none but ceaseless words of love, 
As I a suppliant kneel before Thy throne above. 

Lord, as I would here have others do to me, 
Erase my faults as I do theirs in sweetest 

charity. 
And, if my name's aspersed by enemy or foe, 
Help me to forgive and love them as in yore. 

63 



My Tears 69 

Oft by the wayside here, lonely, sad and drear, 
I sit me down and ponder the past with flowing 
tear. 

years of possibility, ruthless thrown away, 
For aye obliterated by time's impressed decay. 

1 realize now fully the serious, devious task 
Of being true to Deity and being what He'd 

ask. 
Of giving Him my service every day and hour. 
And planting in His vineyard life's everlasting 

flower, 

Lo, when my life has fallen into its lowest ebb, 
And every thread is wovefi athwart its finished 

web, 
I'll pray the Christ to wash them, smooth the 

knots and blurs. 
With the contents of the urn that containeth all 

my tears. 



{To a nameless Rough Rider, who fell at the Battle 
of Santiago) 

Through the camp-fire's lowly glimmer, 

Fading in the evening air, 
Came the voice of one in earnest, 

Lifted low in solemn prayer. 

" Father, help me to surrender 
All to Thee and sin no more ; 

Mother's teachings to remember, 
At her knee in days of yore." 

Slowly, darkly, twilight gathered 
O'er the solemn, quiet scene. 

Broken only by petition, 
Rising up to God supreme. 

Every deed of childhood hovered 
O'er the contrite soldier's breast ; 

Every sin of manhood covered 
With the blood of Jesus blest. 

70 



To a Nameless Rough Rider 71 

A hush of heavenly, holy stillness 

Fell upon the boyish form ; 
A light as from an upward window 

Bathed his face in beauty warm. 

Tremblingly his words ascended, 
"Saviour, watch my mother dear." 

Angels caught the sweet petition, 
Jesus wiped the falling tear. 

Slowly all the camp-fires faded 
Near the touching, dismal scene, 

Where he knelt, sweet visions catching 
Of mother, home, and campus green. 

Again, her loving arms caressed him; 

Again her gentle voice he heard ; 
Again her good-night kiss assured him 

Of her blessing without a word. 

Soothed at last he slowly wended 
Back to where his comrades lay, 

Creeping to his cot rejoicing 

That mother taught him how to pray. 



72 To a Nameless Rough Rider 

Morning woke amid the thunderous 
Cannon's roar and musket's fire, 

Sweeping faithful guards on duty, 
Chivalry worlds will admire. 

Onward, fierce and brave, they battled, 
As brighter fell the sunlight's gleam, 

Across the heaps of soldiers wounded. 
Across the crimson flowing stream. 

Calm in all the thickest battle, 

One straight, brave form held his place, 

Firing quick with oft succession, 
Determination in his face. 

Slowly back the foe were driven, 
O'er their comrades, lying dead ; 

Few " Rough Riders " with that number ; 
None had shirked and none had fled. 

Soon the ambulance came rumbling. 

Picking up the gallant dead ; 
Ah ! he's here, — that brave " Rough Rider " 

Fought and for his country bled. 



To a Nameless Rough Rider 73 

Firing till the smoke had faded, 

Sat he on his noble steed ; 
Till hand to hand the fight grew general ; 

The foe retreated at full speed. 

His boyish form lay bathed in crimson ; 

Serenely smiled his classic face; 
His chestnut curls yet careless waving 

In the sunlight of God's grace. 

Tenderly they placed a blanket 

'Neath the brave " Rough Rider," dead; 

Solemnly canteen and jacket 

Slipped they 'neath his curly head. 

Hark ! again the fire of battle 

Resounds beyond the neighboring hill. 

" To arms ! " his comrades jump their saddles, 
And all again is deathly still. 

Sleeping on the hillside gently, 
Where free Cuba's sunlight falls, 

Unconscious of the raging battle. 
Unmindful of his general's calls. 



74 To a Nameless Rough Rider 

Home no more, to mother never 
That dear boy will come again. 

He's won the fight on fields eternal, 
And rests on Jordan's conquering plain. 



BABE OF BETHLEHEM 

In a trough where Judea's cattle fed, 
Bethlehem's Babe lay sleeping in its quaint and 

narrow bed; 
A light shone about it far brighter than the 

sun, 
So that the people marveled who saw the Holy 

One. 

Outside Bethlehem's precincts on Judea's plains 

away, 
Shepherds sleeping peaceful, among their flocks 

now lay, 
Till wakened by the angels shouting down the 

way, 
" Glory to God. the highest, a Saviour's born 

today!" 

Full quick there was commotion on Judea's 

verdant hills. 
Where flocks of sheep lay scattered hard by 

the crystal rills, 

75 



76 Babe of Bethlehem 

The dozing shepherds, frightened, arose upon 

their feet 
And bowed their faces downward, the royal 

guests to greet. 



Gold chariots, starred with jewels, richly 

carved and bright ; 
Drawn by imperial horses, of fire though 

silvery white, 
Poised low on zephyrs laden with perfume 

from the sky. 
Whose occupants were singing, " Glory to God 

on High ! " 



A great cortege of angels joined the glorious 

song, 
Pausing in rapturous wonder the shepherds 

low among, 
Crying, "Peace on earth, good will to men ; we 

tidings bring 
Of Christ, the Lord, Messiah, Israel's prophets 

sing." 



Babe of Bethlehem 77 

Lo ! then they vanished upward and not a single 

sound 
Was heard except the bleating of frightened 

lambs around, 
The shepherds pondered deeply at what the 

angels said 
And ran to Bethlehem's stable where the royal 

child was laid. 



They found Him in a manger which was rudely 

cut from stone; 
He was close wrapped in swaddling clothes, 

though He was not alone, 
For in the same trough, sleeping, Mary and 

Joseph lay, 
Near them were the cattle, in stalls, not far 

away. 



'Twas midnight when they started, shouting as 

they went, 
" To us a child is given, to us a Saviour 

sent." 



78 Babe of Bethlehem 

And from that day to this the cry has echoed 

strong, — 
The world has heard it over and still it rolls 

along. 



Each Christniastide it blesses — the rich, the 

poor, the sad, 
And makes all hearts to praise Him in joyous 

pleasure glad ; 
This babe, the Christ and Saviour, born in 

Bethlehem, 
His star shall shine forever to guide all mortal 

men. 



Go deck your home with roses and wreaths or 

evergreen. 
Pearled mistletoe and holly, and make a merry 

scene. 
Christmas Day, the holiest of holy days on 

earth. 
The day when angels came to earth proclaiming 

Jesus' birth. 



Babe of Bethlehem 79 

Spread trophies rich and gorgeous, while kneel- 
ing at His feet, 

Hear His loving welcome in words of love 
complete ; 

Go tell Him all the story of your deeds at 
Christmastide, 

How you loved the suffering poor, the sick 
watched oft beside. 



How you sacrificed your pleasure, from your 

pride quick turned away, 
Made a friend and companion of the lonely 

castaway. 
Helped the aged and the weary up the steep 

of life's hard way, 
Clothed the naked, fed the hungry, warmed 

the winter's chill away. 



Turned that cruel word of slander into loving 

words of cheer, 
Helped some human heart to gather strength 

for other bitter year. 



8o Babe of Bethlehem 

With your dear soul's kindly interest touched 

sweet chords of long ago — 
By the cold world deadened, saddened, with 

bitter words of woe. 

Ring the bells forever throughout the endless 

earth ; 
Proclaim the blessed tidings of Jesus' royal 

birth ; 
Sing His song of peace, good-will on earth 

to men, 
Glory to the Highest, oh, Babe of Bethlehem ! 



A SHATTERED IDEAL 

Far away, where streams are rippling 
Through the springtime's flowery glade, 

And zephyrs sweet, with fragrance laden, 
Kiss the yew tree's friendly shade. 

There where trills the happy songster. 
O'er the waving meadow grass, 

Hard by, in a vine-thatched cottage, 
Dwells a pretty country lass. 

Her eyes are blue as skies of summer. 
Revealing love but half complete, 

Shadowed by dark silken lashes, 
Sweeping cheeks for kisses meet. 

'Twas in the gloaming's pensive moment, 
When the stars in heaven beamed, 

That I met her accidentally, 
This ideal of which I dreamed. 

3i 



82 A Shattered Ideal 

Leisurely she plodded homeward, 
Singing snatches of love's song, 

While the cows, in single filing. 
Beat the path she trudged along. 

" Step up. Pinkie, come on, Daisy ! 

Hurry, mooly, we'll be late; 
Step up, Pidey, you're so triflin', 

Jimsie's waiting at the gate." 

Here, mused I, kind Fate has led me, 
And I hastened to her, said. 

Asking if I could assist her; 

"No," she tossed her pretty head. 

" Pardon me, my pretty lassie, 
I'm an artist-stranger here. 

And so charmed with your sweet picture, 
I would like to paint you, dear." 

She blushed red and stammered softly ; 

I only caught the words " be mad," 
And asked her if she meant her father, 

" No," she said; " I have no dad." 



A Shattered Ideal 83 

" Who is it, then, my fairest maiden? " 
" J — Jim," she stammered forth at last. 

" And who is Jim? " I quickly asked her: 
" My husband, sir." I tumbled fast. 



MY CHILDHOOD HOME 

My childhood home, how dear to me, 
Each flower, and nook, and leafy tree 
That grew around the dear old place 
Where first I saw my mother's face. 

The memory of that fireside dear, 
Where oft I dropped a truant tear. 
Or at sweet eventide's blest hour 
To mimic castles built many a tower. 

My mother's voice I hear it now, 
As with her hand pressed on my brow 
I lisp again my evening prayer. 
With angels bending listening there. 

The silver threads in shining fold, 
Upon her brow once gleams of gold 
Above the lines of care that lay, 
How like a halo circled they. 



My Childhood Home 85 

Her gentle hands that soothed my head 
Are resting quiet with the dead ; 
Her lips that taught me how to pray 
Are singing where 'tis endless day. 

Sweet childhood's home, how dear to me, 
Each spot where fancy bears me free, 
Is sacred round the dear old place 
Where first I saw my mother's face. 



THE OLD-FASHIONED CHURCH 

The old-fashioned church is the church for me, 
With its time-honored ways and pews rent 

free, 
Its deacons and stewards, the best of men, 
Who dared to be heard when they uttered 

" Amen." 

I love the old church with its time-honored 

ways, 
And kind Christian mothers of *' 'fore the 

war " days. 
Who attended the class and prayer meetings all, 
Bringing their children, grown-up and small. 

Their sons were sturdy, handsome, and tall, 
Their daughters were fair and buxom all; 
They sewed, and baked, and knit, and they 

read 
Till the time came 'round some lover to wed. 

86 



The O Id-Fashioned Church 87 

Their bonnets were neat — some white as the 

snow, 
'Twas the fashion, sunbonnets, in those days, 

you know. 
And their gowns exactly fit their plump waist, 
In those days they neither padded nor laced. 

Their cheeks were as rosy as a beautiful peach, 
And for soft pretty hands vied they other with 

each ; 
Their figures most shapely and so supple 

grown, 
And had they bright eyes, each a pair of her 

own. 

In a pew to themselves the large boys sat, 
While the girls in a row the good preacher 

looked at. 
No 'kerchief flirtations were carried on there 
'Twixt boys and girls, nor whispering in prayer. 

Those who could sing joined in on each song. 
Till the music to heaven seemed wafted along, 
While many a tear on furrowed cheeks shone 
As the last notes soft o'er the hills were blown. 



88 The Old-Fashioned Church 

The singing was a prayer from beginning to 

end, 
And old grandsires prayed softly " Amen," 
While the preacher, with eyes uplifted to 

heaven. 
Thanked God for the songs of praise He had 

given. 



And once in a while, in a corner near by. 
Some saint in Israel, with a tear in her eye. 
Would cry, '* Hallelujah ! hallelujah, amen! " 
Then sink to obscurity, — silent again. 



Ah, dear is the church of the old-fashioned 
days, 

When religion was pure and free from dis- 
plays. 

When faithful old men and women were wise, 

Whose forms now moulder beneath the blue 
skies. 



The Old-Fashioned Church 89 

To an old-fashioned church I long now to go, 
Where neither there's folly, nor fashion, nor 

show. 
Where hearts are united in faith and sweet love, 
And helping each other to the kingdom above. 

May mem'ries sweet of the old-fashioned ways 
Live green in our hearts to our very last days. 
And may we weak mortals of these modem 

shrines 
Learn lessons of goodness from blessed old 

times. 



BYGONES 

Our thoughts revert to bygone days, 
Happy, fleeting bygone days, 

Long since buried with the past 
In devious ways. 

Our heart grows tender over them, 
Each sunny path we knew ; ah, when 
We were a little child, how sweet 
All things in life did blend. 

Our little heartaches never grew 
Beyond a tiny, trifling few ; 

Our transient tears but seldom flowed 
And sighs we never knew. 

Our days all passed on halcyon wings. 
Our life-path glowed with golden things; 

Our future all looked bright and fair, 
Unmarked by sorrow's stings. 
90 



Bygones 91 

Ah, but the changes and they came, 
Not one scene looked to us the same ; 

Down ev'ry way that once we knew, 
Decay marked every lane. 

And now we look back changed and sad, 
With hearts that long to be made glad. 

As in those happy days of yore 
Our childhood had. 



LITTLE ROSE 

Ah_, little rose, how sweet you smile 
Up in my face — up in my heart, 

Its loneliness you may beguile. 

And with new joy spring up a part. 

Dear little rose, with timid grace, 
Nestling there so sweet and pure, 

Look up at me with friendly face. 
And rest my faith in God secure. 

Your tiny petals — fragrant fair, 
Bear heavenly traces everywhere; 

Nursed by the sun, kissed by the breeze. 
And kindly sheltered by the trees. 

You nestle in your cozy bed, 

The grass a pillow for your head ; 
The dew's your food, the rain your drink, 
You're the sweetest flower on earth, I 
think. 

92 



LOVE, TO YOU 

Out from the crest of the mountain blue, 
I'm saihng, saiUng, love, to you. 
Thinking of the day when last we met, 
And the joy it gave, shall we forget? 

Our hearts together sang love's song, 
As new life sprang our paths along, 
Making a heaven of this old earth. 
Where first awakened love's sweet birth. 

love, pure love, unsoiled on earth, 

1 bless the hour that gave thee birth. 



93 



HE KNOWS 

He knows the weary way, the strife, 
And cares that oft beset this Hfe, 
With disappointments that run rife. 
He knows the gloom that marks each day, 
Shadows dark that bridge the way, 
Wherein the hght was wont to play. 

He knows how weary grows the heart. 
Though patiently it bears life's part, 
Bruised with what pain and many a smart. 
He knows the dim and shadowy way, 
Its crosses — we are only clay — 
As plod the feet through checkered day. 

He knows the cruel flames that burn 

Within the soul as oft we yearn 

His will to do and love discern. 

He knows our heart, its sighs and tears, 

Its joys and griefs, and hopes and fears, 

Through all the past and coming years. 

94 



He Knows 95 

He knows our every want and care, 
And hears our faintest whispered prayer, 
When faith is steady anchored there ; 
He knows our future and our past. 
Bids us burdens on Him cast. 
And happy with Him Hve at last. 



YOU 

When evening sunset closes day, 
And shadows dark in ambush stray; 
When Luna, with her starlit train, 
Steps smiling forth on Ether's plain, 
'Tis then my thoughts, with love most true, 
Turn back to other days — and You. 



96 



